It's About Time
by Aya-kun Rose
Summary: Did she really have to explain it to him?  900 years of voyaging through space and time didn't give him this small amount of intuition?  No, it didn't.  And yes, she did.


It's About Time

He wrapped his hand around hers as he sometimes did, on occasions such as this where the (alien/)homey Tardis lay before them and a (strange/wonderful/terrifying/awkward/)grand adventure lay behind. He didn't do it often, only when the moment was right. In that quiet moment marking the end of one chapter before the next had yet begun.

Rose didn't mind the innocent gesture (quite the opposite, in fact) but after a moment or two of this she took a deep breath and wriggled her hand free.

The Doctor immediately turned an inquisitive look her way—his chin going down, eyebrows up—which was the reason for the steadying breath. "Look," she said uncertainly, courage faltering now that she had his attention. Instinctively she eyed the Tardis door. Maybe she could still run inside and forget it and not say anything at all.

He beamed a (patronizing? enthusiastic?) grin into her moment of hesitation. "Looking," he announced, his rounded vowels rolling out pleasantly. The way he looked at her—it made her knees almost wobble (but luckily she had sturdy English legs which held to sturdy English principles that decreed that this sturdy English girl would swoon for no man, Time Lords _not_ excluded).

Out with it, Rose. "It's just that, this hand-holding thing? Don't get me wrong, it's very nice or whatever, but I don't think it means the same. That is, that it means to me what I think you think it means. Or want it to?" She bit her lip.

_What?_

"Oh." It was almost a question. What she wouldn't have given to see amused puzzlement on his face, as he patiently tried to understand her quaint 20th century human ways. He was puzzled all right, but the temperature of the expression was decidedly concerned. "What do _you_ think I think it means, then? Or want it to?"

Rose blew out a breath that rearranged her bangs. Did she really have to explain it to him? 900 years of voyaging through space and time didn't give him this small amount of intuition? No, it didn't. And yes, she did.

"Well," she started brilliantly, "I think you think that it means we're friends."

"And…we're not?" Ah. There it was. A small tilt of the head, a glimmer of deviousness in the eye, a faint quirk of the lip. For once he was being thick on purpose. …Wasn't he?

She folded her arms, no choice to her but to play along. "No—I mean, yes of course we are."

He flung up his hands victoriously. "Fantastic. Problem solved!" With his devious grin all but plastered from ear to mighty ear, the Doctor resumed striding towards the Tardis.

She stopped him with his hand on the door, key in the lock. "Doctor! That wasn't the problem."

He gamely stepped back and regarded her with the smile of one who regards a slow associate. "You think that I think when we hold hands, we're friends. And we _are_ friends. Where's the problem?"

She studied his bright eyes anxiously. Did he really not know? She casually stamped her foot/adjusted her hair/shoved her hands in her pockets. Waiting for him to break, to give in and quit joking for just one second.

He grinned at her expectantly.

"Fine," she grumbled. "You mean it that we're friends, but to me, it means we're more than that. Or I want it to." She trailed off at the end, like a scolded child forced to an apology.

"Exactly!" he said brightly, his grin unchanged.

Rose shook her head and turned to the Tardis, frustrated. Leave it to the Doctor to make a simple conversation go round in circles forever. "I shouldn't have bothered. Forget it."

"No, you should," he insisted.

Rose didn't turn, thinking she might just push the door open and leave him there without biting. As if she could. "Should have what?"

"You _should_ think…that I think it means what you think it means. Or whatever." She practically heard him shrug.

Her heart kept beating, though for a fraction of a second it would have liked very much to stop. She slowly turned to face him, a smiling coming hesitantly, hopefully.

"It _does_ mean—"

"What you want it to, yes. Whenever you wanted it to mean more, it always has. And will." The Doctor looked at her with serious eyes, his smile no longer careless but kind. He held out his hand to her, this time an offer.

Of course she took it. His grin flashed to life like dry tinder taking flame and he squeezed her hand, swinging their arms like they were school children out for a walk.

On second thought (his face said it clearly), he raised her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles, glancing up at her as if to gauge her reaction.

Her left knee twitched ever-so-slightly to one side. It had always been weaker than the other. Rose laughed.

And the Doctor laughed, straightening and pushing open the door of the Tardis.

"Rose Tyler," he boomed, pronouncing her name in that way of his that made it sound like magic. "It's about time you figured that one out!"


End file.
